Waking Up
by JustAFlick
Summary: Second installment in the Dreamwalker Series. Our poor princess fights a losing battle with her feelings when she fears losing her smuggler for good. Set in the Never Will I Ever universe between A New Hope and The Empire Strike Back.


Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself! The entire story is written, so I'll be posting as quickly as I can edit. Please review, fav, or follow if it speaks to you.

Note: Just thought I'd give us all a breather from the emotional intensity of Never Will I Ever. If you haven't checked out No Looking Back, that's the story that directly precedes this one. If I haven't said it, thanks for all the enthusiasm of support in the last few weeks. It's been so much fun to go on this journey with you!

* * *

It's easier when he's gone. Easier and harder. During the day I can control my thoughts, drive him out of my head when he appears. I am busy, working from morning to night. But, the one thing I can't control is my dreams.

It's gotten to the point that I put off going to bed until my eyelids feel as heavy as the blast door on our compound. It's not that I'm afraid of the dreams. I'm afraid of the feeling when I wake up in the morning. Alone and missing him so fiercely it's a physical ache.

So, mostly harder. But not harder than when he's here. At least when he's gone, I can confine the situation to my sleeping quarters. When he's back on base, the dreams calm down, but the rest starts up again. The hammering heart, the sweating palms, the hot flushes that make me feel like I'm slowly catching fire. Sometimes I wish we'd pick a colder world just for a bit of relief.

I've never felt so out of control and it scares me. I like control. I like order and rules and protocol. You'd think this would make me a poor candidate for a rebel leader but it's actually the opposite. These fiery young men (and older ones) often lack the kind of discipline I've been trained in and naturally drawn to all my life. They're often relieved when someone comes in who wants to deal with the business side of a war.

But when Han strides into a room, I feel my tight grip on reality falter. I blame it on the dreams. They are intensifying, rather than lessening with time, and sometimes I have a hard job remembering what I dreamt and what really happened. I've had more than one embarrassing moment when I've caught myself about to lean against him or brush his hair off his forehead.

Thankfully I stopped the actions before their completion. But he's still given me the odd look as I stand in front of him with my hand frozen centims from his face. I live in fear of the day I'll truly slip up. The growing vocabulary of touches and embraces slowly tested, practiced, and recorded in my dreams threatens to overload my circuits.

I can't reconcile the man in those dreams with the man in real life. Of course, this makes sense since the former is a product of my imagination. But, it's hard to remember this. It all seems so real. As a thoroughly logical person, I can't imagine having a subconscious that is powerful enough to create the dream version of Han that is slowly driving me mad.

But, in real life, he is the same old scoundrel. Worse, in fact. After we returned from Lueshant and after he'd returned from the string of long missions he took directly after, he was different. Still teasing, still fearless, still slyly protective, but flinty. He was more hot and cold than I remembered him being. We fight more these days, hot arguments that quickly devolve into angry silences or, worse, obnoxious innuendo on his part. As always he loves to get a rise out of me and making me blush in front of the other pilots is his favorite method.

If he ever took it seriously. If he ever chose some private moment and said some of those things to me...I don't know what I'd do.

But thankfully, yes thankfully, he hasn't. In fact, I'm starting to get the feeling that he avoids spending time with me alone. It took me a while to catch onto this since I had been doing the same. But, as the dreams continue to plague me and his absences grow longer and more frequent, I can't help the desire to seek him out.

He's coming back today. At least that's what the logs say. I try not to look at them. I fail almost every day. His name and Luke's, my eyes seek them out constantly. A new fear has taken root as my affection and trust has grown toward both of them. What if I lose them?

It's what made me not want to care in the first place. In hindsight, it's one of the reasons I didn't seek them out during our first few months together. But eventually I couldn't resist. Between Luke's sweetness and Han's doggedness, I'd been pulled into what now felt like a trio of sorts. Despite my recent realization, that is still true. As long as Luke is around, Han and I can continue our strange friendship.

So naturally, I look for the recently inducted Rogue pilot before making my way to the hangar. The Falcon is due in the next half an hour, and I desperately want to see it's pilot. Whether or not I'm allowing myself to act on this attraction, it is too powerful to resist in these moments. As long as Luke is with me, it won't seem strange to greet him. To see his face and lose myself for a flick in those laughing hazel eyes.

But, Luke is no where to be seen. Even when he's on base, he's busy all the time.

So are you, I remind myself. There are certainly better things you could be doing than mooning over a man you shouldn't even be wanting.

I know Han isn't right for me. How could he be? He's coarse and sarcastic, brash, openly self-interested. Besides the fact that those character traits constantly rub me the wrong way, I could never take him anywhere. I could never aspire to a political career with him as...well, anything.

There is still a part of me that hopes this conflict will have a good resolution, at least for our side. And if that day comes, I would like to return to the public life, to serving what would be a new republic. I would want to continue my father's work, spreading peace and prosperity across the galaxy. And I certainly couldn't do that careening across the universe on Han's heap of junk.

The Falcon's engines stutter to a stop and I frown critically at the ship. It looks like they took fire of some sort. I feel my stomach tighten as my mind races through a series of disturbing possibilities. But the deck is already lowering and Chewie is walking cheerfully down the ramp, looking like he hasn't a care in the world. He wouldn't do that if Han was injured.

If anyone was injured, I correct myself. He isn't the only person in the universe.

As if to confirm this assertion, another figure emerges from the Falcon, a very feminine figure.

She's tall, lean and lovely with blond hair tied in a ponytail. I recognize her but I don't know her well. Dyanne, I think her name is. As has most often been the case in my life, I'm not close with any of the women on base. I believe, at first, they were afraid of me. Intimidated. But as time has gone on, I think they've simply lost interest. I don't know what to say to other members of my sex. Even though we are all fierce women fighting in a rebellion, I still don't know that we'd find anything in common.

I also didn't know she'd been on this mission. I think back to the ship log but all I can remember is his name, blinking from the screen. Han Solo. Han Solo. Han Solo.

I shake my head to clear it just as he appears. My heart starts to beat a little faster at the sight of him. And then it lurches as I see the way he's carrying his left arm. It isn't bandaged or bleeding, but he isn't moving it and his shoulder seems to be frozen at an odd angle.

My body starts to move toward him without my consent. Questions are already ready on my lips when I see Dyanne turn back to say something to him. He laughs appreciatively, a real smile lighting up his face. My heart and my legs stop. I may not be well-versed in the feminine wiles but I do have a strong feminine intuition. He likes her.

As if to confirm my suspicion, as he arrives at her level, Dyanne reaches an hand out and gently touches his injured arm. He shrugs then winces. She says something and he nods, giving her another, this time rueful, smile.

I have to get out of here. I feel heat lick my cheeks, preemptively warning me of possible humiliation. If he sees me standing here, gawking at him like a school girl, he'll know. He'll mock me. He'll laugh at me.

Turning, I stride purposely away, towards wherever that is.

"Your worship!"

Too late.

I think about ignoring him, pretending I don't hear, but the temptation for contact is too much.

I turn with a brisk, "Captain." At least I didn't use his name.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asks.

My mind isn't working fast enough, "I-I um..."

He watches me, amusement amassing in his expression.

"It's classified," I say.

He squints down at me skeptically. It's a ridiculous statement and we both know it.

"I see. And I almost thought you'd come to welcome me...back." He pauses slightly before the word and I wonder what he was going to say.

My cheeks are too hot. I know I'm blushing and for the thousandth time I curse the parent who left me with this. I don't fault them for abandoning me, but I thoroughly resent them for the cheeks.

He notices and his smirk is maddening.

"What happened to your arm?" I say in an attempt at deflection.

He glances down at it, seeming to have forgotten in the moments between Dyanne's touch and now.

"Got up close and personal with some Abyssins. Turns out they don't like my blaster as much as I do."

I hadn't realized until now that it's his shooting arm. What will he do if it doesn't heal properly?

My face must betray me because he moves a step closer.

"It's alright," he says, voice falling into a gentler cadence, "Just a dislocated shoulder and maybe a sprain. Didn't have a medic on board and I don't have the guts to deal with it myself."

His voice, deep and steady, reminds me of the way he talks to me at night. It's uncanny. It makes me melt right there in front of him.

"Go to the medic," I say, matching his tone. "Please." I add the word as an afterthought, not sure how he'll take my well-meaning order.

"I will, sweetheart."

The normal taunt sounds so much more like an endearment. I feel giddiness race through me. I am suddenly so incredibly happy that he's home. He's still looking at me, eyes unreadable. I want to keep hold of his gaze, but it's too much. I lower my eyes to his chin, noticing that scar for the hundredth time. Where did he get it?

"How were things on base?" he asks. I'm always thrown when he asks banal questions like this.

Lonely.

"Fine," I say.

He smirks.

"Sounds awful," he teases.

I want to touch him so badly, it's a physical ache. I wish I was sleeping, on the plane where all these barriers have dropped. I would pull him to me, nestle my head under his chin, careful to avoid his arm. Or maybe since it's a dream world, I would fix it myself.

"Are you still planning on going to pay off that gangster? After your arm heals?"

He suddenly frowns at me, stepping back just a bit.

"When did I tell you that?"

I'm about to answer when a strange awareness settles over me. I thought we'd talked about it, some meal, some night. But maybe…

"You've been planning to since we met," I say. I feel the heat return to my face. The 'we' I used feels so intimate somehow.

"Yeah…" he says, looking wary all of the sudden. "I don't know. Have to see."

He looks over my shoulder and some of the wariness fades away.

"Luke!" he calls.

I turn, relieved and disappointed by the distraction.

Luke is fully decked out in uniform.

"Hey, ol' buddy!" This is Luke's favorite new term. He uses it ad nauseam.

He goes to slap Han on the back, but pauses when he sees his shoulder.

"Got some action, huh?"

Han tries to shrug again, and winces just like before. I'm suddenly reminded of the blond woman, of the light and easy conversation I witnessed. So much different than our stilted, awkward attempts.

I feel an odd prickling sensation behind my eyes at the thought.

"Leia? You okay?" Luke asks, perceptive as ever, even in the midst of excitement.

"I'm fine," I say, only then remembering what Han had said. It was awful to be fine. "I should really be going."

"What—" Luke started.

"Don't ask her, kid," Han groused, "It's classified."

* * *

I can't get to bed fast enough tonight. I don't know what has changed, but suddenly I don't fear the dreams the way I have been. I want to see him. I want to be reassured. Somehow I know that if I give into that desire, I will get the result I crave. Usually the dreams let up when he's on base. A small part of me worries that will happen tonight, but as I close my eyes I can already feel him, coming closer, materializing in the strange heady way he does.

"Missed you," he whispers against my ear.

I jump a little and open my eyes.

He's standing there before me. We're back in the hangar. We might as well have traveled back in time a couple hours, each of us dressed the same way we were this morning.

"Han," I breathe, lifting up on my toes and giving him the kiss I've been wanting to all day.

He catches me around the waist, trying to hold me to him, but then he lets out a pained grunt.

I remember his arm and look down at it.

"Didn't you get it looked at?" I ask, immediately reaching for it, skimming my fingers along the skin, wanting to soothe him.

"Not by you," he answers. As I continue to touch him, the shoulder lowers, the arm straightens. I giggle at my magic touch.

"If only I could do this with all the pilots, the Rebellion would be set," I quip. He flexes his arm experimentally and then slips it around me, pulling me closer.

"You better not do this with all the pilots," he growls softly. We are nose to nose, sharing breath.

In my periphery I see a flash of blonde hair. My eyes dart to follow, but whoever it belongs to is gone.

"Do you want me?" I ask, filled with a sudden deep need for confirmation.

"Always," he says.

"Why won't you take me?" I'm overwhelmed with wondering.

"Take you where?" he says, obtusely.

"Stop," I say, nipping him lightly on the neck.

"You want me to stop?" he asks.

"No," I sigh, as he lowers himself to my neck and starts to torture me slowly and thoroughly.

I almost don't hear his next words, but they drift up one at a time.

"You…don't…want…me…" he says.

I try to shake my head, but I suddenly feel like my throat is in a vise grip. I struggle against the sensation, confused by what Han is doing. Then I look up and see the mask of my—

Darkness. My eyes have flown open and I can't see a thing in my little chamber. The inhuman mask of Darth Vader is imprinted on my eyes and I can't scrub it away with some mundane scene of everyday life. There's nothing to see but him…it.

Gods.

I shudder as I try to force the phantom from my mind. How had my dream gone so wrong? Fear makes my heart beat frantically, even though I know here, locked in this little room on a base in the Outer Rim, I'm as safe from Vader as anywhere.

But, that doesn't mean I can forget. I suddenly feel my nerves start to thrum and fray at the remembered pain. Sometimes, I feel like the torture machine he used burned a pattern into my brain that repeats every time I think of him. In this moment, it feels as real and present as if it were a year and a half ago and I was on the Death Star.

Usually, Han keeps him away. But, the fear was too strong tonight.

I get up shakily, feeling knives go through my feet as I do, and fumble for the light. I can't find it in the haze of pain and tiredness. This base is fairly new and I'm still unaccustomed to it. I do find the latch of my door and it swishes open at the touch of my palm. It isn't bright out in the hallway, but it's light enough that I can finally stop seeing Vader. The pain lessens just a bit.

I hear a rustle to my right and a new jolt of fear skitters up my spine. I suddenly wish I had a weapon. It's occurred to me before, but somehow I've always found the thought distasteful. I don't want a gun in my only safe space. But who would be wandering the base this late? It's frowned upon to be out between the hours of midnight and five when the first shifts start.

"Princess?"

Han.

The adrenalin retreats from my system, leaving me feeling a little shaky.

"What are you doing here?" I mutter, wishing for a moment I didn't revert to coldness so easily.

"Couldn't sleep," he says. He's a couple metims away, having rounded the corner. He doesn't come any closer, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"You alright?" he asks. I think back to the dream, to Vader, to the phantom torture. My muscles are aching, though the pain has mostly gone. I sniff, fighting a wave of something else.

"Leia," he whispers, inching closer. He never uses my name anymore, not in the day.

Of course this is still the middle of the night.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, belying my words with a step towards him, a step away from my safe space.

"I know."

I'm suddenly so aware of the fact that we're alone, in the near-dark. Oh no, I realize. This is a dream. Still a dream. I don't know why I'm so disappointed, but the sorrow is intense.

"Han…" I say, a little mournfully.

He crosses the corridor, taking the final steps towards me. I expect him to take me into his arms, the way he normally does. But, he just stands there. I can feel the energy coming off him in waves and it washes into me like I'm some sort of undersea sponge.

"You need to sleep," he says. "One of these days your just going to drop dead if you don't."

It's an odd thing for dream Han to say, a little rougher around the edges than his usual prose.

"Well, look who's talking," I say, gesturing to his wide awake form.

"I'm on bacta," he says, "can't stay asleep for more than an hour or two."

"Then it wasn't just a sprain," I challenge.

"Fracture," he confirms. "Stop avoiding the subject."

"What subject?" I say, using his tried and true deflection tactic.

"You. And a bed."

A wave of heat crashes through me at his words. I'm about to close the distance between us when he speaks again.

"That came out wrong," he mutters, hand coming up to his hair in a familiar gesture.

I suddenly feel a splash of hesitation.

"I know what you meant."

His nervous hand transfixes me. I don't know if I've ever seen him do that in a dream.

"How do you know I don't sleep?" I ask. It's a safe question for this strange moment.

He gives me a look, or as much of one as I can see in the gloom. Then his hand is leaving his hair and reaching toward me. I don't move as he gently touches the skin under my left eye with his thumb, resting the his fingers on my temple. Suspended between the urge to move closer and a fear that makes me want to pull back, I stay frozen.

"It's pretty obvious. And Luke told me."

His hand is still there, thumb rubbing lightly in a soothing way. It has to be a dream. Doesn't it?

"You two talk about me?"

He laughs, a low airy chuckle that barely disturbs the space in the empty hallway.

"What else would we talk about?"

It's an odd thing to say and the absurdity comforts me, making me lean into him a little and whisper.

"Wars, ships, other women…"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat at this.

Suddenly the lights flick on. Harsh, white-blue work lights that fill my windowless corridor nineteen hours a day.

I jerk away from him, disoriented.

"What-?"

A door swishes open and a young woman with a pixie haircut walks out. Timmon, her name is. She doesn't notice us at first, but jumps when she does.

"Oh, um..." she looks between us for a flick before turning in the other direction. "Sorry."

I shake my head, not believing this is really happening. My cheeks are on fire and I know the flush will be visible now.

When I look back at Han, his eyes are flat and shielded.

"Go back inside and get some sleep," he says. Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks purposefully away.

I watch him go, fighting the urge to call him back. How could I explain my reaction? I can't.

Sleep.

His order compels me to turn back to my room. Exhaustion overwhelms me. Maybe I can apologize in my dreams.

* * *

"Leia," Luke's voice recalls me back to the present. My head snaps toward him.

"I'm sorry," I say, realizing I've missed most of what he just said. I look down at my plate, at the food I've been pushing around.

"Where are you today?" he asks, even as his eyes dart over to where mine just left.

"I'm tired," I say, stabbing the only vegetable with my fork, a purple colored root of some sort.

"Right," Luke says, returning to his plate as well. His mood seems to have shifted a bit and I'm relieved when he doesn't continue talking.

I process the scene I just witnessed, seeing it rather than the unappealing mess in front of me.

Han sitting with Dyanne and her little group. He's straddling the bench and regaling them with one of this tall tales. They laugh, alternating between disbelief and admiration. Dyanne is calmer, leaning her chin against her hand, her focus unwavering amidst the cheerful tumult. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

He isn't yours, Organa. You have no claim to him. You don't want to have a claim on him.

This feels farther from the truth than the most remote outpost from the Core planets.

But I swallow the tasteless purple thing and turn back to Luke. I may feel like I'm about to wretch but I don't have to show it. Now that I'm determined, I feel a bit better. If there's anything I'm good at, it's putting on a brave face.

It seems I've done so just in time, because Han chooses that moment to saunter up to our table.

"Hey kids, miss me?"

I suddenly hate him and grab onto the emotion with strange glee.

"Not really," I say with an admirable note of cheerfulness, "It was a relief to have some adult conversation for once."

I don't see whether my dig has hit it's mark. I keep my eyes on Luke who looks a bit flustered now.

"Um," he says, finally choosing to look at Han, "You looked like you were having fun."

Han's voice is smooth as silk when he answers.

"Oh, I was having a great time," he says. "Nothing like a beautiful woman to start your day right."

Something inside me twists at his casual use of the singular. He isn't even trying to hide his preference.

I turn to him and find his eyes on me. Whatever thoughts I might have read in his eyes flee as his guard goes up.

"Well, it's a good thing you left when you did. I'm sure your limited charms would have worn thin." I don't know why I'm saying it, but it has the desired effect. He looks a bit wounded, before his face twists in a sneer.

"Don't worry, darling. I never stay for long."

He tosses the remark at me before turning on his heel and striding out of the room. But, not before throwing a wink at Dyanne who seems to have caught the entire exchange. She smiles at him, but the smile fades when she glances back at me.

I don't give her anything as I turn back to Luke. He's frowning at me, looking truly disappointed.

"What?" I say even though I already know where his mind is. I always seem to know with Luke.

"You didn't have to say that," he said. "It wasn't very nice."

I feel annoyance flare, and before I can quash it, I say, "I'm not nice." Then I correct my own statement, "You're the only one who thinks I'm nice."

He shakes his head, gaze unwavering.

"It won't protect you," he shifts gears to his philosophical track, "Pretending to be like that."

I swallow a sudden swell of sadness. How is it Luke can always cut through my defenses so fast? I look at him, at his sweet blue eyes, and for a brief second I wonder. But immediately the other man appears, clouding my vision.

"Maybe you're right," I say. "But it will protect me from some people."

With that vague admission, I rise taking my untouched plate with me.

* * *

Of course, I feel terrible. My words haunt me the rest of the day.

I'm sure your limited charms would have worn thin.

Where had I even gotten that? Is there anyone more interesting, more maddening, more of a puzzle than my captain? I shudder a little at the possessive word. But, he is mine. Even if he will never be my lover…I swallow…he's my friend, my ally, my savior. Without him I'd be a distant memory.

In some ways, that feels preferable to my current state of being. Every time I think of him, which is far too often these days, the words batter me again. They came from some small dark place. Small, but very powerful, like a black hole invisibly tucked into a star system.

I try not to think of that place. I've noticed it for a while. Since the Death Star, since I stared into the mask of my mortal enemy. That's what he is. The commander may have pushed the button, but Darth Vader is the real power behind the Empire.

So, why does he have this pull on me? The nightmare last night, that interrupted my beautiful moment with Han, also haunts me still. A metallic taste of rust and decay still lingers the back of my throat. It's always present when I wake up from one of those dreams.

Before Han started visiting me, I had them all the time. They terrified me, made it almost impossible to sleep. If I wasn't dreaming about my dead family and friends, I was dreaming about that monster, the torture, the pain. It was more than just physical, it was an emotional pain so intense, it could make me gag. Like my heart was breaking apart and the pieces were being flung across the universe.

But after that first dream about the waterfalls, the one I can still remember with startling clarity, the nightmares calmed down. The more I dreamed of him, the less I dreamed of Vader. And there were even nights (usually when he was safely on base) when I dreamt nothing at all, just closed my eyes and opened them again, actually rested for once.

I know Han has nothing to do with my subconscious. I know I shouldn't feel so grateful to him, but I do. I'd forgotten how terrible the nightmares were. Until I woke this early morning in their grasp once more. He'd even scared Vader away then. How had he known?

My feet have made the decision that my head couldn't. I'm walking through the hangar, towards the Falcon. I don't apologize. Not usually. It was bred into me along with everything else. A royal may make a mistake, but you will let you actions set it right rather than your words.

But, I can't wait until that opportunity arises. I must use my words. I have to talk to him, to explain, about the nightmares and the exhaustion, maybe even the dreams. I'm so sorry, I feel like my heart might break.

I'm about to mount the ramp when I hear voices from just inside. It goes quiet and then a laugh, an unmistakably girlish chuckle, tumbles down toward me. Before my head can take over again, Dyanne appears. She's flushed and happy, looking a little disheveled. She doesn't see me immediately, as she looks behind her, obviously waiting for Han to follow.

I notice a power washer to my right and slip behind it. It's twice my size and hides me just in time. I can still see the top of the Falcon through the air filter on the side. Han appears and grabs Dyanne's hand pulling her back into him. He kisses her soundly, the way I know he can kiss. No embarrassment, no hesitation. She grips his shoulders and seems to be enjoying it.

I can't look away. Like watching a gruesome accident, I'm hypnotized and disgusted at the same time. Stop, I think. She isn't for you. Don't you know that? I'm here. I'm right—

He breaks away and looks towards me. My heart hammers in my chest. I'm sure I've been discovered, but then I remember I'm hidden by the vent. He frowns, searching the space. The satisfied smirk is gone, replaced by something verging on distress.

Dyanne says something, her voice an indistinguishable murmur. He looks down at her, but the game has ended. He releases her and steps back, arms coming up to cross over his chest.

I notice, in a complete tangent, that his arm seems to be mending. I know bacta works quickly.

Quickly enough for him to—?

I cut off the thought, finally gathering myself enough to whirl away from the washer and walk towards the bunker. There's a meeting I'm supposed to attend. I should get there early anyway, make sure everything is ready to go.

"Leia," I hear. It's not Han.

I look over my shoulder and see Dyanne. She's jogging toward me and reaches my shoulder before I can respond.

"I'm sorry," she says, "should I use your title?"

She's so pretty, I think inappropriately. No wonder he…

"No," I say. "I don't care."

Dyanne seems to stall, either forgetting or hesitating in what she came to say.

"Did you see…?"

I shake my head. But the immediate response only confirms that I know exactly what she's talking about.

Her shoulders sag a little. Why is she upset?

"Are you going to the meeting?" she asks.

I'm relieved that we're talking about business now.

"Yes," I reply crisply, relying on my professional demeanor. "I'm actually needed there immediately."

"I'll walk you," she offers. I almost cringe but manage a stiff nod and pick up the pace.

"I know you're close," she says, veering back to the uncomfortable subject.

I want to deny it, pretend I don't know who she's talking about, but it would be pretty silly at this point.

"I—I'm not trying to get in the middle of that," she continues. "But you're not interested in him," she probes, "that way, are you?"

I feel anxiety claw at my throat, making my windpipe feel a little tight. I can't believe after all the mental turmoil and self-deception of the last year, this woman, practically a stranger, is asking me this point blank.

"No," I say, the lie tumbling easily from my numb lips.

She sighs a little, in relief I suppose.

"Well, good," she says. If I looked at her, I know she'd be smiling. "Then maybe we can be friends? I'm sorry we've never gotten to know each other."

"Perhaps," I say. My tone is icy. I can lie about Han. I can keep a brave face. But, I cannot be friends with this woman.

"Okay," she says, a little haltingly. "I guess I'll see you around."

Politeness demands that I acknowledge her before she goes, but I can't bring myself to do it.

"Excuse me, I'm very late," I key in the code to the briefing room and slip inside. The room is empty and dark. I sag against a wall and finally let the tears flow freely.

* * *

When I leave the room I feel as high as I did low two hours before. Suddenly, the exhaustion and the sorrow have fallen away, and I am filled with a new sense of energy and purpose. I'm going on a mission. I'm getting out of here. The base has never felt so claustrophobic, and I am uncharacteristically thrilled at the prospect of shooting into space.

High Command was not thrilled when I volunteered, especially in front of all the pilots and staff gathered in the room. They kept their mouths shut and pursed until most of them had filed out. But General Rieeken stood up for me. He assured them I was ready, and that it would be good for me to get in the field, to see the fight through the troops' eyes. I was a little surprised by his support - he was usually as protective as Luke and Han - but I was glad.

Once High Command had accepted my decision and the meeting was officially disbanded, he approached. His face was a little more stern now that the other leaders had gone.

"Leia," he said, "this is a dangerous mission."

"I know," I answered reflexively.

He was silent for a moment, measuring me.

"I'm not sure you do. But, I can see that you need to go."

He hesitated a bit before adding something else.

"There is more to life than this, Leia. One day, I hope you'll know that."

He looked so sad for a moment and I imagined he was remembering his wife and the baby they never had.

"I know," I repeated. Though really, I don't.

The rest of the day flies by in a flurry of preparations. We depart tomorrow. The only reason I was able to volunteer this late in the game is that one of the navigators broke his foot in an ill-timed game of smashball. Shots are administered, weapons issued, and I'm outfitted in the specialized clothing we need on the jungle world we're headed to. Before I know it, the day has passed. I only thought of him every _other_ minute.

I'm about to head back to my sleeping chamber at an absurdly early hour (since we leave at dawn), but my stomach has other plans. I realize I haven't eaten since the nauseating meal this morning, and I can hardly call what I did then eating. Suddenly ravenous, I turn towards the mess. I should probably tell Luke I'm heading out anyway.

Before I can make it through the door, I feel a hand grip my arm. Hard.

I look up into Han's face. He's doing his best to keep a sabacc mask, but his anger is clear.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growls under his breath.

It's the last thing I expected. I had actually been preparing myself for a situation like this morning. Him and Dyanne laughing and flirting like there was no war at all. I look down at his hand with a haughtiness that usually makes him back off, but he doesn't budge.

"I was planning on getting some dinner," I say, briskly.

He doesn't even dignify this with a response. Rather, he marches me purposefully away from the mess and out towards the hangar. I'm too shocked by his behavior to put up much of a protest. But I do ask him to loosen his grip. He remains silent but does so, with a furtive and slightly regretful glance over his shoulder.

He stops the minute we're alone. We're standing in an indistinguishable hallway. I feel a cool rush of air from the hangar beyond. It's not much different than how we were this morning.

"What, Han?" my voice is as hard as his grip was.

He runs his hand through his hair, pacing a little from side to side.

"Tell me I heard wrong. Tell me you aren't going on the mission to Florn."

"I can't tell you that," I say, not sure why I don't answer point blank.

"Leia," he says, hurling my name at me like an invective.

He stops in front of me, but doesn't come any closer.

I feel my temper rise, despite my efforts to remain cool.

"Don't," I say, "Don't you dare tell me no to go. You treat me like a child. You know, I'd actually outrank you. If you bothered to join up."

He lets out a low, humorless laugh.

"All the more reason not to."

I don't know what I'm feeling. The pressure in my face, behind my eyes, is immense.

"I'm committed to this cause," I say, voice filling with the same kind of passionate rhetoric I used in the senate. "I would give my life for the Rebellion."

He shoots forward and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me enough to knock my teeth together.

"Stop talking like that! You're only a kid. You don't _know_ what you're giving up."

I try to break away but his grip is too strong.

"What?" My voice isn't as strong as I want it to be. "What am I giving up?"

He closes his eyes for just a flick. Something moves over his face like a passing storm system.

"A life," he finally says.

The energy is changing. His hands feel hot against my shoulders, like they might melt through my clothing if they stay there any longer.

"What kind of life?" I ask, not even sure what we're talking about anymore. "A life like yours, going from place to place with no direction, no cause other than preserving my own skin?"

The words are cruel, but my tone isn't. I truly wonder. I don't understand the point of that life.

He's looking at me, seeming to really consider my words.

"No," he finally says, "not a life like that. One day, you'll find someone…you'll…" he swallows and then licks his lips, "You'll love him and you'll make a life that's so much more than that."

It's the strangest thing I've ever heard him say. So out of the character I've drawn, that I don't know what to say. But then I think of what has changed in the last day, of the blond woman staring adoringly into his face. She looks at him like she could love him.

I shake my head, feeling my chest tighten and my arms tense. He finally takes the hint and releases me, stepping back to a more appropriate distance.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say, not daring to look at him again.

His voice is even, devoid of intonation when he answers.

"You're probably right," he says.

We stay there, standing in the chilly air, not moving, not looking at each other for a long beat. I feel like I can't move away, like there is something tethering me to this spot, to this man.

But, that's why I have to go. I have to break it, or else I'll sink.

"Excuse me, Captain."

I walk towards the hangar, taking the shortcut to my cabin. I suddenly have no appetite.

* * *

We ship out at dawn. After a fitful night of sleep, with no dreams of any kind, I head to the hangar wearing my new uniform and an aura of determination. I'm looking forward to losing myself in something challenging, something different. My enthusiasm waivers just a bit when I reach the group of milling rebels. They all seem to know each other, chattering softly in the dawn silence and making jokes. I'm embarrassed to stand awkwardly to the side. I know them all by name, but not much else.

As we wait for the ship's haul to open, I glance around the hangar, eyes irrevocably drawn to his ship. I blink and my heart starts tripping in my chest. He's there, sitting on what looks to be a piece of an engine. He looks tired, but his gaze is intent and focused. On me.

I feel the sudden urge to go to him. I want to drop this pack and rush across the space, throw myself into his arms and weep. He'd hold me, cradle me like a babe. He's done it so many nights before. I can feel his hands across my back, under my knees. I can feel the warm crook of his neck wet with tears and open-mouthed kisses.

His body tenses and he looks like he's about to rise when the commander's voice cuts through the space.

"Squadron Seven, onto the ship. Now!"

I turn towards the ship, feeling every bit the soldier. Before I can think twice, I board the craft along with everybody else.

* * *

I am not a soldier. By the time we've set up camp in the middle of a sweltering jungle, my feet are bleeding, my back is breaking, and my nerves have been completely shot by the constant litany of shrieking orders from our commander. How do people do this?

I swallow the thought as I head for the little fire where people are warming their rations. At least, I can eat something now, my first meal in more than a day.

My mind keeps circling back to that look. Every time I felt like I was about to give up, to fall down, to turn back, the memory kept me going. He has never looked at me that way.

I'd done my fair share of analysis on what might be going through the spacer's head. Of course I have. And I've always come up with a terrific amount of blank. I know he cares about me. I know he finds me interesting, like an engine he wants to pick apart to see how it works. But I haven't detected any hint of the kind of desire I feel for him.

Luke would laugh at this if I ever confided in him. He'd point out Han's lascivious remarks and roving eyes, the way he likes to make me blush at every opportunity he gets. But this, to me, is proof of exactly the opposite. If he wanted me that way, if he thought of me as a real romantic prospect, he wouldn't be so bold. He wouldn't make it a joke.

Rather he sees me as a little sister, a kid he has to look out for. At least that's what I thought. Until this morning.

No one has ever looked at me like that. There was worry and frustration and exhaustion, but the main aspect, the thing I can't get out of my head was the wanting. Pure, unadulterated want.

He was there with me, right there, when I thought of running to him, of closing this ludicrous distance that stretches between us. I could feel it, with more certainty than I've ever felt anything in my life. Part of me regretted it, not giving into the feeling, not abandoning this vain pursuit. But, I was still me, still human, and already doubting what I thought I'd seen.

I'm certainly doubting it now, with a passel of strangers in the middle of a dangerous jungle. I wish he was here. Or Luke. I wish I didn't feel so alone.

"Hey," a light, lilting voice says behind me.

At first, I don't turn, assuming the greeting was aimed at someone else.

Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn with a start. It's Timmon, the girl with the pixie haircut I saw yesterday morning. Gods, that seems like eons ago.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I cut in front of you?"

Timmon laughs a little silver laugh. "No, I scarfed my stuff down a few hours back. Just thought I'd introduce myself. Officially."

I can see something in her expression that recalls a bit of the color from that morning into my cheeks.

"Right," I say, slipping into my public persona, "I'm Leia. Officially."

Timmon nods and sticks out her hand. "Timmon. Of the Roh-aster clan."

I don't know the reference, but I nod with put-on familiarity.

"Were you going to put those on the fire?"

I look down at the little packs in my hand. They look unappetizing to say the least.

"May I?" She sticks out her hand for the rations, and I hand them to her. I watch her make quick work of them, finding a little pan, pouring some water out of a canteen. My mouth drops open as the powder becomes a far more appealing piece of bread and the rest starts to resemble something akin to stew.

"Thank you," I say, real gratitude spilling over my stiltedness.

She flashes me a smile and stands back.

"Let it warm up for a bit. It will taste better."

We find a place nearby, a fallen log that looks pretty unstable. But it doesn't give when we sit on it, and I finally allow my muscles to relax. My head lolls forward as if on its own accord and my neck pops satisfying.

"Not used to jungle marches, are you?"

Timmon's voice is full of compassionate humor, so I give her a small smile.

"No."

"We were all pretty shocked when you signed up," she continues.

I tense just a bit, but she puts a hand out in a conciliatory motion.

"It's just, your a leader. One of the high command. And a rather important person," she adds with another bit of humor. "What made you want to come on a mission like this?"

I look back to the fire, letting the dancing flames calm my mind. I could say a lot of things. Heroic things. Things a good leader would say.

"I needed to get off the base," I admit, feeling the fight drain out of me for just a little while.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Timmon nod.

"Guy trouble?" she says.

So much for relaxing.

"I—no, it's just…" I take a deep breath. "I know you walked in on a rather strange looking scene yesterday." I decide to take the bull by the horns, in my usual blunt way.

Timmon laughs a little, clearly much more comfortable with this subject than I am.

"Not very strange. I've seen lovers' quarrels before."

My eyes bug out, I can feel them pressing out of my skull.

"We're not…lovers," I say, hating the way my voice gets a bit breathy on the last word.

"Oh," Timmon says, voice a little subdued, "Well, then I guess that is strange."

We sit in silence for a minute before she stands up and heads back to the fire. Wonderful. I scared away the first person brave enough to talk to me all day. The word lovers keeps repeating in my head, like some bizarre looped code. Like if I hear it enough, it will lose all meaning, not make me want him so fiercely I feel like I might fly off the planet and back to his arms.

Then Timmon reappears with my food. She's wrapped the pan in a handkerchief and found a fork somewhere.

"Eat well and long," she says, "that's a saying from my home world."

I thank her, truly touched by her attention and relieved I haven't pushed her away.

We chat for a little while, about much more inane things. The rations are palatable and satisfying. I especially like the chewiness of the magic bread. We gripe about base life and share some anecdotes from our past. Her eyes bug out this time, as I tell her about my horse.

"I've never seen a horse," she said. "When I was little, I thought they were a myth."

As always happens when I remember Pamila, I miss her fiercely. There was a time when that horse was my best friend, almost my only friend.

Our peaceful little scene can't last though. The commander, a short, stout Sullustan with a heavy accent appears. He reminds us that we march at 0600, but doesn't leave right away.

"Timmon," he says, "I'll need you to scout ahead tomorrow. Don't want to run into any of those flower traps."

"Lychonymphies," Timmon offers.

"Right," he barks, "I'm no botanist. Just don't want to end up flower fodder. If I die, it will be at the hands of Darth Vader."

I should feel a ripple of fear at the name, but it's warded away by the ridiculousness of his statement. I don't think the Dark Lord would even waste his time on this lowly commander.

As if he senses my unflattering thought, he looks over at me with a malicious glint in his eye.

"You should be careful, Princess. The prettiest flowers have the deadliest poison here in the jungle."

I nod stiffly. He doesn't seem satisfied with my show of deference.

"What made you come here anyway? This mission ain't no picnic. No royal ball," he laughs at his non-joke. Timmon rolls her eyes behind him. I cover a smile.

"I believe in the cause, commander," I reply a bit too breezily.

"Well, you're not alone," he grouses, "Seems like everyone wanted to get on this mission. Couldn't recruit anyone, had to draft them, then a Princess and a Captain try to get on in one day."

My heart jumps and I almost drop my stew.

"What?"

"That smuggler. The one everyone likes so much, though Gods-know-why. He practically beat down my door last night, trying to get on this thing. Like we need some no-good criminal making deals with the Empire. We'd be drowning in flowers before we knew what hit us."

Timmon is looking at me a bit searchingly. I try to school my expression, but I'm sure I'm doing a poor job of it. Han tried to come on the mission.

"Besides," the commander continued, "he broke his arm. Even if I wanted his sorry self - he does have a good ship - the medics wouldn't approve such a quick turnaround."

I see his eyes again. His body turned toward me, his arm held slightly in front of him, cradled against his leg. Fracture, was it?

"Would have been more useful than a Princess," the commander grumbles before turning to Timmon. "We leave at 0600!" he repeats then stalks away.

Timmon turns back to me, a slow smile spreading on her face. "Not lovers, huh?"

* * *

The jungle sounds keep me awake for sometime, despite my exhaustion. They are strange and otherworldly…in the literal sense. Squawks and gurgles, rustlings that seem far too close for comfort. We don't have tents and Timmon said to thank the Gods it wasn't raining. I decided before I'd even laid out my sleeping sack that I would be talking to High Command about at least providing tents for all missions. We may be a scrappy Rebellion, but our men and women deserve better treatment than this.

Or maybe it's Han that keeps me up. Timmon pressed me for details - as much as she dared. Of course, I didn't give in. I've made it a personal mission to be uncrackable. When your words once cost your entire civilization, you tend to do that. But her questions still swirl in my mind.

"Why did he try to come on the mission if not to be with you?"

"Doesn't that prove something, at least on his side?"

"Is he trying to deny it? Or are you?"

They hadn't been quite that pointed. She still showed some deference, though I thoroughly enjoyed her candor. I'd only had this one conversation with her, but I already like Timmon a lot. I can imagine being her friend.

My mind's attempt at distraction works but only for a moment. I wish I knew more. All I have is that gruff commander's flippant comments to go on. Maybe Han had another reason. Maybe he was bored. Perhaps this world held some unknown appeal.

As if to counter this thought, a loud growl sounds from somewhere to my right. I jump and huddle under my sack, fully aware that the thin heat-treated material will do little to save me from whatever animal made that sound. A shiver travels up my spine and I wonder if I'll be able to sleep at all tonight. I should. From what I understand, tomorrow will be hard work.

I wonder what he's doing now. Immediately, I'm assaulted by images of him tangled up in long limbs and blond hair and I feel my stomach tighten with jealousy. In the dark night of this foreign planet, I can admit to myself what I feel. I can indulge in all those feelings I never do on base.

The jealousy, sharp and hot, rushes through me as if responding to my silent permission. I allow myself to hate her, to wish her anywhere in the Galaxy except on our base. But, even as I do, I know she isn't the problem. If it wasn't her, it would be someone else. The problem is me, him…us.

I never, never allow myself to think of Han and me as an _us_. As a team, a unit. A couple. Just the thought sends another shiver down my spine, but this time, it's a good one. I know too much from those dreams. How I fit into his arms, like I was made for them. How his gravelly baritone sounds in my ear, easing my fears and encouraging my strengths. The way just one word from him, just one touch can make me feel both safe and wildly free at the same time.

With a rush of clarity, I realize this is true in life just as much as it is in the dreams. I think of him, returning from a mission, bringing light and music and joy back with him. I think of the middle of the night, the way the touch of his hand against my face made all my demons fade away. I think of this morning and that look that carried me throughout the day.

Suddenly my eyes fill with tears as I realize how much I have come to rely on him, to lift my spirits, to keep me going, to make life worth living. And the fear is back, the fear that burrowed into me along with Darth Vader's painful signature. What will I do when he's gone?

Because I know one day, he will leave. There it is. The real reason I keep away. I like his strangeness as much as I pretend I don't. I see his potential for leadership and his clear, calculating talent for business. I respect that he is his own man, self-made and proud of it. And like any such man, he is completely independent. He will only stick around as long as it suits him. When he tires of this adventure, he will fly far, far away.

I finally feel the pull of sleep and allow it to take me, wanting to forget this painful revelation. But, of course, the wings of slumber only take me right back to him. He is standing in the shadows of some towering thing. I can't tell what it is, in the gloom of wherever we are.

"Leia," he says, coming forward, reaching me before I can move more than a step his way.

His hands are on my face, my neck, then sliding down to the rest of me. He continues his exploration as if searching for a wound or a break. This reminds me.

"A fracture?" I say, allowing a little pique to enter my tone.

He looks alarmed for a moment. Then he realizes I'm talking about him. The smirk is all Han.

"Nothing a little bacta couldn't fix."

But then the mirth is fading and he's pulling me closer, tucking me under his chin, dropping kisses into my hair.

"Why, dove? Why are you doing this?" It's his name for me in my dreams. I love it more than any pet name I've ever had. Of course, there haven't been many.

I can tell him here. For a moment I almost pinch myself, remembering the shock of our last 'dream' encounter. But, we are lightyears away from each other. That can't happen again.

"I saw you," I say, voice wavering slightly. "With her."

As if to accompany my sadness a light warm rain starts to fall from the murky sky. The water starts to accumulate around our feet. I glance down at it in consternation, but Han's hand is under my chin, raising it to meet his hazel eyes.

"What did you see?"

"You were kissing her, like you kiss me."

He's shaking his head, little drops flying from the wet tips of his hair. The create a kind of halo around him.

"I can't kiss anyone like I kiss you. You're my heart."

The water is rising around us, licking our knees.

"Your heart?"

He nods gravely and points to his chest.

I look down and the water has washed away his shirt, his skin, his bone revealing a glowing red orb. I feel drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He doesn't move as I reach towards it, touching it with the tip of a finger. The light flows immediately into my hand, up my arm, and I feel the most wonderful sensation, warm waves lifting me up making me feel like I'm weightless…

My sleeping sack is soaked. Everything is. The rain must have started a while ago. I hear the aggravated mutter of voices and look up at the weeping sky. It's still dark, but a tinge of light peaks through the trees. I guess morning has come early.

We pack up the camp and start making our soggy way through the trees. Timmon finds me and apologizes for jinxing us. I laugh quietly and fall into step with her. We're headed to an Empire outpost. It's very unassuming, manned with minimal staff, but over the years more and more communications lines have been looped through it, connecting the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim encampments. Our engineers have determined that if we knock it out, we'll disable Empire's digital network for a good stretch. Long enough for us to scout for our next base.

The danger isn't so much in the guards at the hub, but the world around it. It's dangerous flora and fauna are well-known throughout the Outer Rim. It's probably why the Empire hasn't expanded their presence besides using its convenient location for transmitters. As dawn creeps through the jungle, I can't help but admire the view. I can actually appreciate the beauty, now that I've eaten and slept a little. And we're deeper into the jungle, where the plants are all bright colors and most are taller than me.

Timmon points at a purple pod, with a spray of pink dots. It's about the size of a large dog.

"That's a lychonymphie," she says. "Well, a baby one. You want to steer clear of those. And, well, everything else."

We're trying to follow a small path that has been maintained for the limited troopers stationed here, but the jungle has already grown over large swaths of it. It's hard to avoid _everything_.

Timmon slips away as the last of the night fades in the morning sun. She's scouting for more of the pods. The commander has given us all our assignments. I'm being kept as far from the action as possible, stationed as a look out thirty metims from the base. I don't mind. All I wanted was to get off the base, not be a hero.

Unbidden, I think of Luke. I've been so caught up in Han, in avoiding him or spiting him, that I've forgotten about my other best friend. I didn't even tell him I was leaving. A hint of shame licks me as I think of this. He'll be hurt. How did I end up with two such sensitive men in my life?

Suddenly there's a strange sound in the trees above. It sounds like a wind rushing through them, but the air is still and stagnant. I look up, along with the other soldiers, and don't see anything other than some swaying vines and dancing patches of sunlight. Then a shout pierces the silence and people start running, shoving, leaping through the underbrush. I have no idea what's happening, but it's already too late as golden bits of dust fall onto my arms and face.

Not dust. Pollen.

I can't help the little laugh that surfaces. What are they all so afraid of?

It's my last coherent thought before the world slips out from under me.

* * *

"…watching her…"

"to do…what…in the…"

"…tell it—where—up…BUZZ."

The sounds come in and out as if someone is covering and uncovering my ears. I can't open my eyes, they feel like they're sealed shut. But the sounds are bothering me. They're making it so hard to sleep. I just want to sleep.

I feel a hand grip mine and try to pull away, but I find I have very little strength. My attempt is futile and the hand is joined by another.

"Leia?" I think it's Luke, but I'm not really sure. I can't open my mouth, so I try to nod.

"—awake!" He's cutting out again, but I get the idea.

Another pair of hands touches me, these cool and professional. They explore my neck then come up to my eyes, cracking one open gently. Everything is blurry, but I see a light shine. It makes me blink and shy away.

"Welcome b—, Prinssssss…" The end of my title trails off as my ears still fight to find their footing.

I try to answer, but my mouth only opens and closes. Irritation spikes through me and I feel it clear my head just a bit.

I tune back into what Luke is saying, just in time to hear "buddy." I want to ask what's going on, why I can't move or speak or see, but I hear another tumble of sounds and it makes me wince.

Yet another set of hands are on me now, these ones warm and large. I know these hands. They're in my hair, on my face, tucking the blanket around me.

"Han?" My voice sounds terrible, cracked and airy like I haven't spoken in weeks.

His hands pause and start to retreat. A little moan of protest makes it through my lips.

"Hey, you," he says, voice exceedingly gentle. I can detect a thin reed of tension under it, even in my compromised state.

"Mmmmm…" I grumble, having used all my strength on his name.

He laughs lightly, a relieved sound that makes me relax a little.

"Took your time coming back to us, Princess. Been waiting for you," he trails of and his hand squeezes my arm lightly.

Luke pipes up, "Maybe we should let her sleep."

Han makes a sound low in his throat, "She's slept enough."

I want to put my two cents in, tell them I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. However, since I can already feel unconsciousness beckoning me once again, I only smile a small, affectionate smile. I'm already gone.

This time I dream. But the dreams aren't clear or linear. They prominently feature Han, but I don't feel like he's here with me. I feel like I'm remembering something rather than really living it. He's carrying me across a threshold, I open my eyes briefly to see the red bark of fallen logs or are they beams? I don't feel afraid anymore. I feel safe. I feel like I've come home.

I don't know how long its been when I open my eyes. But this time, they open and I can see the hospital bay around me. It's hard to tell the time of day, because there are no windows here. But judging by the growing shuffle and the sounds beyond the door I think it must be morning. I feel the need to move, my muscles stiff and sore. I stretch a little to one side, and the other, then pause. I turn my head back to the right and my breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

Han's sitting against the wall, on some box or cabinet. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open just a bit. Something about the sleeping spacer reminds me of a little boy. I lean against the pillows and watch him. Everything suddenly seems to make sense somehow. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I allow myself to just bask in the rightness of this moment.

My life and basking do not generally go together. And that assertion is proved right again, by the bustling entrance of two of the last people I expected to see. Well, the last person, I suppose.

"Leia!" Timmon says, "You're finally awake!"

My new friend enters the room, followed by a quiet Dyanne. I tear my eyes away from Han, both annoyed and oddly touched by the intrusion. Han starts awake and the gratitude flees. Is that why Dyanne is here? To see him, to take him back to the Falcon where she can wait by _his_ bed?

But Han just glances at me, a questioning look on his face. Without words, I can tell he's asking if I'm alright with them being here. I nod ever so slightly, and he mimics my gesture. Then with a short grumble about the ''fresher, he slinks out of the room. Neither her nor Dyanne looked at each other at all.

I can't tell if this makes me feel better or worse, but Timmon is already chattering. My brooding has no choice but to lighten at her silvery tone.

"Well, you got the full experience," she says, sitting on the corner of my bed. "I think you can really call yourself a rebel soldier now."

I laugh, a little hoarsely, "What happened?"

She looks bewildered for a flick.

"I've been asleep," I say, "This is the first time I've really woken since…"

I remember the gold dust falling from the trees. An odd feeling of weightlessness. Then nothing.

Dyanne has poured me some water and hands it to me, still silent in the background. She does give me a small smile when I thank her.

"You were caught right in the center of a biological attack. The Empire has teamed up with some of the natives to booby trap parts of the jungle. Of course we knew that was a possibility, but we were so focused on the nymphies that we weren't really prepared for another tactic. Nymphies can eat a person whole you know."

I nod, trying to keep up with her winding narrative.

"Anyway, the other soldiers were familiar enough. They dodged it as best they could, but apparently, you just stood there."

I feel my cheeks heat up and lift the water to my lips to cover my reaction. It's cool and soothing against my dry lips and tongue, and I feel myself ease toward Dyanne just a bit.

"It's alright," Timmon adds cheerfully, "how would you know? Anyway, since the…rescue team was nearby, you and a couple others were picked up right away. That was lucky. The pollen needs to be washed off immediately or it can cause paralysis." She frowned just a bit. "You can move everything can't you?"

I shrug, knowing I should care, but not quite having the energy.

Dyanne nudges Timmon none-too-subtly.

"I'm sure you're fine," Timmon chirps.

"I wasn't the only one?" I ask, grabbing onto the one thing that will make this a might less embarrassing.

"No," Timmon laughs, "Fitch got it pretty badly too. But, he was released a couple days ago."

"How long was I out?"

"Five days," Dyanne says. Her first words since walking into the room.

I know my shock shows on my face. Timmon puts a hand out and pats my shoulder soothingly.

"It's nasty stuff. Captain Solo even had to get treated, just from touching you."

I frown at her, and Dyanne steps forward.

"He went after you. Before the attack even happened. That's how you got back here."

I look at her and for the first time in my life, I feel like I can read another female. That's why she's here.

Timmon looks between us and seems to sense this as well. She gives my shoulder another pat, rising from the bed.

Before she can leave I grasp her arm.

"Was the mission a success at least?"

She smiles and nods. "No casualties, unless you count you and Fitch."

I lean against the pillows, grateful at least for that.

"I don't count me," I say, on autopilot.

Timmon shakes her head, face a little serious. "You should. Come find me when you're up and about." With a little wave, she leaves the room, almost managing not to look back at us.

Dyanne is silent for a moment. She looks at the place on the bed that Timmon just vacated, but doesn't move toward it.

"Would you like more water?" she asks. I shake my head, wanting her to get on with whatever she's come to say.

She nods and takes a breath.

"I'm glad you're better," she says. "Everyone is."

I continue to look at her, undeterred.

"Especially Han," Dyanne finally says, acknowledging the happabore in the room.

My heart bangs a little against my ribs, just to remind me of its presence.

"I wondered if I should say this…" she seems very uncomfortable, a far cry from how she was…it must have been a week ago now. "I know it's none of my business, but I thought you should know. Han's heart doesn't belong to anyone but you."

I have a bit of deja vu at her words, accompanied by a rush of adrenaline and emotion.

"He was so worried about you going on that mission that he followed you in his ship even though the medics didn't give him clearance. He was the one who went down to the planet and got you. And he's been here almost every hour of the day since you got back."

Her voice has a little edge which she seems to catch, pausing for a moment.

"I'm not trying to be a sore loser," she continues, "It's just that I realized there is no competition."

I open my mouth to argue, to rationalize out of old, ineffectual habit.

She cuts me off.

"Even if you don't feel the same, you should know how he feels about you," she seems to have wrapped up her speech, turning slightly towards the door then turning back. "And if you do feel the same way, then you should show it. I don't think he knows."

With that, she gives me a formal nod and starts for the door.

I almost stop her. To say thank you or I'm sorry or both. But, by the time I open my mouth she's already gone.

For a heart-stopping minute, I think Han will appear, waltz into the room saying he heard it all. But, he doesn't and as the minutes tick by I start to feel drowsy again. The same lethargy that made me shrug about my possible paralysis, has made me unable to focus too long on Dyanne's words. Some small wise part of me seems to have taken over and whispers for me to wait.

Wait and see.

Just as I am drifting away again, I hear the shuffle of booted feet against the floor. I start, and look instinctively toward the sound before settling back against the pillows. He's changed his shirt I think, and his hair is slightly damp. He must have showered, or at least splashed some water on his face.

I'm suddenly aware of what I must look like. Raising a hand to my hair, I find it smooth and plaited down the side. My mouth doesn't feel too disgusting either, just drier than usual. Someone must have groomed me and the thought of who that person could be makes me sink further into the pillows.

"Who-?" I begin to ask.

Han is looking at my hand and answers over me. "The droids. Don't worry, Princess. It wasn't me or Luke."

His own hand is in his hair now and his eyes are looking anywhere but into mine. He's shifting from foot to foot and looks back at the cabinet he was sleeping on before. He moves toward it, but then changes his mind and turns back toward me.

"The kid is out scouting. I'm sure you'll want to see him," he says.

"Oh," I say dumbly. Why is he so nervous? And why am I? I feel my heart start to pick up its pace and the machine to my right beeps loudly in time with its rhythm.

He looks at the thing in alarm and then back at me. "What is it? Are you alright?"

But I can't answer because he's finally looking at me. It's there again. That look that haunted me in the jungle. And suddenly I realize I have seen it before. Many times. Not usually so naked as that morning, but there. Lurking in the background, warming his shifting hazel eyes to a liquid gold. I just didn't know how to recognize it. It's as if some veil has lifted, and I can suddenly understand. I feel it. Hot, glowing energy coming off of him and into me as if I'm-

He looks away and clears his throat.

Han wants me.

He might want me as much as I want him.

I think I'm going to be sick.

"Didn't know you two were friends," he mumbles, looking down at his feet.

"Me and Timmon?" I say, unable to resist the dodge.

He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and I decide to take pity on him. I want him to look at me again even though it makes me seasick.

"Yes," I say, "We're friends."

It may not be the whole truth, but I do feel a grudging respect for the blond pilot.

He nods.

"Are you..." I swallow, knowing I shouldn't be asking, but needing to anyway. "...friends?

He takes a deep breath. "Think I told you once. I don't have friends."

I narrow my eyes at him and his non-answer.

"What about Chewie?"

"Copilot."

"What about Luke?"

"Mentee."

"What about me?"

He pauses for just a flick. Then gives his patented smirk.

"Danger."

I allow a slow smile to spread across my face. I don't know why, but I like his answer.

"You think I'm dangerous?"

I am flirting. And I don't care a wit.

"I didn't say dangerous. Just a danger to yourself and others."

"Well, maybe others should mind their own business. Then they wouldn't be in harm's way."

"If others did that, you'd be a pretty patch of manure on Florn by now."

I scrunch my nose at this image.

"I don't think I'd be very pretty at this point."

"I'm sure you'd manage, sweetheart."

It's the kind of remark I'd have brushed off before, but now it sends racing tingles through my chest and lower down. He's sitting on the edge of my bed, a little closer than Timmon was. I think of Dyanne's remark. If you do feel the same way, then you should show it.

Do I want to show it? Do I want to cross that line?

Instead of looking away, I hold his gaze longer than I ever have. His hazel eyes lose their humor and deepen, filling with intensity. How did I have such a hard time reading him before?

"Don't do that again," he says, voice deep and quiet.

"Don't do what?" My voice is still light and teasing, belying the seriousness of our look. Now that I've started flirting, I can't seem to stop.

"You know," he says, not giving into my game.

I sigh. I'm too inept to keep it going on my own.

"I can't promise that, Han."

His eyes flash, losing a bit of their softness. "And why is that, Princess?"

I bristle at the title, suddenly not liking it. Not liking it one bit.

"Leia," I say, eyes narrowing. "My name is Leia."

He scowls at me. "I know your name. What I don't know is why you won't stay on base and do what you're good at."

My mouth falls open. I can't tell if this is a compliment or a put down.

He takes the opportunity to push forward.

"That deal on Lueshant was lucky. That close call on Florn was a fluke. If I hadn't been there, waiting a mile above the surface…"

The temperature in the room ratchets up as he refers directly to his involvement in my rescue. I push the blanket down, suddenly feeling stifled by it's scratchy heat.

He's distracted for a moment by the movement, and his eyes linger just a bit too long below my neck. When he looks back up, I'm amazed by the glazed expression on his face. I take a breath, and he purposely looks away. I want to laugh, or cry, or both. How did I not see this before?

"Thank you," I say into the quiet hum of the hospital room.

He seems completely stymied by my words. His hands clench the blanket on either side of him, and I wish with sudden ferocity that he would reach them towards me. I want him to touch me, to hold me. Or at least hold my hand.

Of course, he doesn't. Only in my dreams does Han do things like that.

He clears his throat, Adam's apple bobbing exaggeratedly

"I'm not always gonna be here, you know," he's looking off to the side, out the door I realize. "I have a price on my head, Leia. The longer I stay, the higher it gets."

My heart sinks at his words. How had I forgotten? Wasn't that the fear that kept me awake into my one night on Florn?

"But you could come back…" I say, hating how transparent my need is.

He looks back at me, a spark of something fierce in his eyes.

"If you don't keep out of trouble, there won't be anything to come back to."

His words settle into the space, as unexpected and volatile as the falling pollen. For a moment, I think there's no going back. How could we possibly sweep that under the rug?

But, Han manages to buck the odds. He always does.

"You'll have exploded the whole base by then, Princess." His eyes are snapping with humor, but I can see the tense line of his mouth. Whatever might be said between us will not be said today.

I lean back against the pillows, letting the tension drain from my body. Two can play this game.

"I'm sure that won't be the case, Captain. I'll have had lots of practice being a model soldier by then. I plan to sign up for my next mission the moment I'm recuperated."

The steam practically pours from his ears.

"After all, I have to prove that I'm not as weak as they all must think I am." I raise my hands above my head and pantomime a yawn. I don't look at him, but I can feel his gaze on me and it curls my toes with womanly delight. I could get addicted to this. To his looks, our word play, the feel of his…

He's caught my wrists above my head and holds them there, lightly between his hands. I look up at him, completely caught by surprise. He's close, only a handful of centims away.

"Over my dead body," he says. My eyes fall to the body in question, taking in the way his shirt gapes open slightly at the neck revealing a swath of tanned skin and a sprinkling of chest hair. Desire, fierce and intoxicating sweeps through me. I look back up and into his blazing eyes. The machine beeps again, picking up its pace as the seconds flick by. He smirks at me, this time knowing exactly what those sounds must mean.

"Everything alright in here?" Luke's voice might as well be a bucket of ice water.

Han immediately releases me and stands up, miming his own lazy stretch. He throws a sly smile at Luke, putting him at ease.

"Just giving our little princess a talking to. Needed a firm hand, if you know what I mean."

"Excuse me?!" I sputter, unable to believe how quickly the tide has turned in his favor.

"Call me if she needs a spanking," he drawls to Luke. "I'll keep my comlink on."

My mouth is opening and closing, the sudden fury tripping up my words.

Luke is trying to quash his amusement, but he's not doing a good job of it.

"I hate you," I say, knowing I sounds like a spoiled child, "I hate you both."

"Sure, your Worship," Han says in the most patronizing of ways.

"Especially you, Han Solo!" I shout to his back as he saunters out of the room.

Both Luke and I can hear his words float back from the hallway on the current of his laughter.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Princess."


End file.
